the previous listener, who did so faintly and in a manner foreign to me, sat reasonably as I do now, or perhaps lain starry and jaded on some soft lawn riddled with the paused movements of those who watched, clouded with distraction, the life of a sweet nothing drown in descent from above as they cheered and screamed for it, for that meaningless treasure tainted by the vanity of their own desire, ignorant of the listener, of her own treasure then forming, as something warm and enduring in the seat of her chest, something to brood, to analyze, to cherish for a length, at great odds with the fleet and trivia that so dominated the struct of their noire.

but the listener had none of this, gulfed from the shaking and pressing, shielded the same from its symbol and write, opting to push for those few golden moments most certainly approaching her as the rest wraithed past, softly and shyly granting the scarcest and most shamefully starved of treelines, roadways and ballparks and wire staff, knowing but keeping that the few she would most deeply and fondly remember would be just these.

and so the listener and her lover stood past, sweeping over the artificial earths with little concern, not pausing or skipping for a moment to witness the wonder in the world around them and to soak up some indefinable fraction of its infinite offerings. from lain block to patch grass they strode, searching for their one moment, for that which so surely stood staunch and unmoving at some near point in their passage, but which always seemed to elude them, to taunt and hang and cackle in the face of their steadily growing contempt.

and then, as the crowd deserted their peaks for the safe and steady and trough, allowing those moments of elation to slip from them with ease, the listener let likewise all that was precious to her from her grasp, and fell into a similar place, one of deserted lows and recollections of the brightness that lay behind, of those very moments that felt their way independently into her heart and her soul, and left her love beside her, forever looking up into the dark.

the pursing of brown lips
Earth as she inhales
feet which prance quietly across
the folding of pink hands

corners of a dark room, melt
by candle
billowing shadows
cast and crowded into Darkness,
who is holding hands with
Light

embrace of opposites
stark and subtle dance together
a fluid

one being, like a river

undeniably roaring

Such is the transience of anger and
flightiness of love

who call upon us
even in the scarcest of moments

How many more times
Will I die
Before I find life
In its scarcest places?

Your eyes, though they’re so dark and endless,
Like they could swallow the world,
They catch the light
And become shimmering reflections of golds and coppers
A buried treasure made of sunlight
Your gentle voice ebbs and flows with the sea
It hides much
The force to make waves
Tsunamis
Hurricanes
And many secrets
Treasure
The dreams of fish
And sailor’s songs
And though I am charmed
By the light dappling on the surface
I find myself wading through the shallows
Searching for tiny things
Shells
Rocks
Anything that would give me a glimpse
The scarcest sight of the deep dark below
And then your sunset
All too fleeting
Is gone
And I am left to wonder
To hope
I might see it once more